


From a Distance

by flonkertons



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Canon Compliant, F/M, Reunions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-24
Updated: 2017-12-24
Packaged: 2019-02-19 16:10:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,503
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13127187
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flonkertons/pseuds/flonkertons
Summary: She frowned, eyes opening. Bellamy was smiling at her. When she remembered it, his smile was always nice. "I thought I'd killed you guys. I thought we'd never see each other again.""I'm always here," Bellamy said, his voice soothing, calming.6 times Clarke sees Bellamy. Season 5 speculation.





	From a Distance

**Author's Note:**

> Happy Christmas Eve! My goal was to get this fic done in time for Christmas so I've achieved it! I'm not super pleased with it overall but oh well! I wanted to write this because I couldn't decide on what kind of reunion I wanted for them so I figured well, why not do them all??? None of this will happen in the new season because they hate us, but please enjoy anyways!

**day 3.**

She was fooled the first time. She couldn't help it. Laying there, in blistering pain, on the cold, hard floor of Alie's bunker, she wasn't sure what was real and what wasn't. She wasn't 100% certain she was alive. If she was, she wondered how much it would it take to reverse that. If she was here, if she was alone, if she had sent Bellamy to his death — if she had sent her friends to their deaths, she had no reason to be alive.

It was the crippling uncertainty that consumed her on day 3. Day 3, as if she could even guess how much time had passed. Day 3 was her guess. It was odd, and awful, and miserable, to gasp for air as she woke up from her fitful slumber (if slumber described the drifting in and out of her sleeping patterns), to remember that the blinding white of her vision was just the light in the bunker.

It was even worse to hear familiar voices, loud and clear as if they were right there with her. It was Raven and Monty, and one time, it was Murphy, and another time, it was Echo, and she'd hated that, shaken her head to rid herself of her voice, and a few times it was her mom, but mostly, it was Bellamy.

Bellamy was by her side, his deep rumble haunting her, his concerned voice asking if she was okay.

He cradled her head in his lap, smoothed back her hair, ran his fingers across her face, frantic, worried, gentle.

"Clarke," he said, low and soothing. "Are you okay? You're okay."

She tried to respond. Maybe she croaked out an answer. Maybe she nodded.

"Is there anything I can do? Can I help you?" He asked, and she reached out for his face, hovering over hers.

"Bellamy."

"You're okay," Bellamy said again. "You did good. You saved us. You're _alive_."

It wasn't fair that he was saying these things.

"Where are you?" She managed.

"Here. I'm right here."

"Bellamy," she said, finding his hand. "Where are you?"

There was no answer.

She woke up, gasped for air, and saw white.

***

**days 25-41.**

They were alive. Clarke had no confirmation of this, but she knew it was true. She'd pulled the switch, Raven was incapable of failing on tech, and they were alive. They had to be. There was no reason why _Clarke_ was alive if they weren't. Therefore, her friends were alive.

It was unbearable being alone, surrounded by only the hum of the lights and the inescapable walls of the bunker that confined her. It was for her own good, she supposed. Without any idea when it was safe to venture outside, and unwilling to risk the chance that she _might_ not be burned alive again should she step outside, the only place she could go was within the bunker itself.

There was nothing to do. She slept all day, stayed up all night, played with the tech left behind in the lab, became frustrated with her inability to figure out how they worked, found a radio, remembered that Raven had configured it to connect to the rocket when they had hurriedly gotten ready, and got it to crackle with sound. She assumed that meant it worked.

Her first test got her hopes up.

"Bellamy," she said, holding her breath. "Are you there? Can you hear me? It's… it's Clarke. Griffin." She continued without waiting for a response. She was afraid there wouldn't be one. "Can anyone hear me? I'm still — still alive. I'm on Earth. I —"

There was another crackle and she clenched her fist.

"Bellamy?" She waited. "Raven? Monty?"

It crackled again and then nothing.

"I'm here," she said before dropping the radio back onto the table and leaving the lab. She didn't spare a glance towards the spot where the rocket had been, and she always avoided looking up to the second floor.

Clarke kept trying. She reasoned with herself. It didn't make sense that there would be a response so quickly. They were busy. They were alive, but they were busy. There was a lot to do in space. They had to find ways to make food. They had to figure out how to monitor the ship. They had to stop Murphy from killing everyone. They had to stop Echo from killing everyone. (It wasn't fair that —) They didn't have time to figure out the radio. They didn't know Clarke was here. That she was alive.

For all of those reasons, it made sense that she wasn't getting a response. But it didn't mean she couldn't try.

Once, she took the radio into the bedroom and sat on the bed. "Things are okay here. It's boring, but I figured that came with the territory. Are you guys doing well?"

Sometimes, she would lay in bed and reach for the radio. "I can't get to sleep," she'd say. "I think I've slept too much. Did you ever imagine it was possible to say that?"

Sometimes, she kept names out of it. Most of the time, she called for Bellamy. It was easier to talk to him than the others; she relied on his advice the most, she was the most comfortable around him. There was never any moment, even when they were fighting, that it was ever _hard_ to talk to him. Even when they were separated by space. It was the easiest thing in the world to imagine Bellamy on the other end, listening, talking, arguing. She clung to her memory of him. The way he would frown when she came up with an idea he hated, the way his forehead would knot when Octavia did anything, the way his jaw clenched when he was displeased. His hair curled around his ears, the scar on his upper lip, the dimple on his chin. She always pictured him with a few cuts on his face. With so much time on her hands, it was hard to _not_ do it. Every detail she remembered of him, she kept.

"I had a dream about you," she confessed, curled up in the bed, wide awake. "I was in the Rover. I don't even know where that is now. It'd be nice to have it back." She was rambling, a habit she'd gotten into in her radio conversations. "Not that I can leave, obviously. Would you say I should go outside now? No, you'd say it's better to stay inside. And then _you'd_ go outside without telling me first and I'd be so mad at you." Clarke laughed at the thought.

Staring up at the ceiling, she tried to remember what she wanted to say before she got distracted. "I'd be mad at you, but I'd do the same thing. Maybe we should stop doing that. Oh! The Rover. I was in the Rover and I was driving it and I found you. You were just there, in front of me, and I nearly ran you over, but I stopped just in time and you held your hands up and you hadn't changed at all —" she smiled to herself, "Just like I last saw you. No hazmat suit though."

She sank into the pillows and tried to recall the dream, as if it was fading away. It wasn't, because she kept thinking about it, willing it to stay with her. "So I jumped out of the Rover and I ran up to you and I hugged you. And it was as if we'd never been apart." The silence of the room was haunting, glaring in the face of the radio’s lack of response. They were alive, Clarke reminded herself. Bellamy was alive. Five more years.

“It’s not too much longer,” she added, quieter this time, blinking back tears. “I’m here.”

Clarke held onto the radio for another minute and then dropped it onto the bed.

***

**day 504.**

"Madi! Stay close!"

Madi barely paid any attention, diving into the lake with an excited scream. Clarke tensed up for a second and then relaxed, smiling at the girl as she took a seat a few feet away from the edge of the lake, just close enough that she could still monitor Madi. Water held no appeal to her, and despite Madi's insistence that it was fine, she wanted to hedge her bets. There was no stopping the other girl though and as a compromise, she had said that she would take her to the lake and watch her.

It was sunny, finally, which had been a contributing factor to her decision. It hadn't been truly sunny in months. Although the sun had peeked through, the skies stayed cloudy and dim. She took it as a good sign that the sun was shining finally — only a thousand days to go. (The countdown was always in her head, even if she wasn't always aware of it.) Leaning back on her palms, she tilted her head towards the sky, eyes closed as she soaked up the warmth. Her hair was getting long again and the ends of it were tickling her shoulders.

"Clarke, are you _sure_ you don't want to come in?"

"I'm really sure! Just have fun and —"

"Be careful, I know!"

Clarke smiled and laid back on the ground. Not for the first time, her thoughts drifted to Bellamy. Before they'd left for the lake, she'd made her daily radio call, a quick, perfunctory one this time. Ever since she'd found Madi, her morning calls had been a lot shorter. It was why she preferred ones at night, when Madi was asleep and she could go outside and tell him about their day. There was hardly a moment in her day that she didn't think about him. The littlest things reminded her of him — the Rover they recovered,  the rifle she carried, certain plants they encountered, even, once, the way Madi had yelled at her — but whenever she lectured Madi, she couldn't help but think of Bellamy. This was how he felt, she had realized, with Octavia. This was the burden he'd been left with. If Bellamy was here, and he would be here ( _soon,_  she always added), he could tell her about it.

If he was here, he'd be suspicious about the sun and he'd hover too close to the lake. Madi would roll her eyes and tell him to go away. Clarke would roll her eyes and tell him to come back. He'd stand there for a minute or so, arms crossed and glaring at the water, until he was assured that she was safe.

"You're being ridiculous," Clarke said, shielding her eyes from the sun as she looked up at him. He grumbled under his breath and sat down next to her, accidentally knocking into her elbow.

"Sorry," he said. "I'm not convinced that water is okay."

"Madi's had more experience with these things. And besides," she teased, pulling herself up so that she could lay her head in his lap. "if she grows an extra arm, you'd love her anyways."

"Not because of the extra arm."

"Regardless of it."

"And then she'd still like you more."

"She thinks you're cool!"

He didn't say anything to that, but when she looked at his face, she could see him trying to hide a smile. Clarke watched him a little longer, while keeping her ears trained on the splashing of the water.

"This is nice," she murmured, eyes closing. She felt him shift to look down at her and their hands drifted towards each other, clasping on top of her stomach.

"What is?" He asked, quiet.

" _This_. Not having to worry about anything, doing nothing, sitting here." He caressed her thumb. "That you're not dead."

"Why would I be dead?"

She frowned, eyes opening. Bellamy was smiling at her. When she remembered it, his smile was always nice. "I thought I'd killed you guys. I thought we'd never see each other again."

"I'm always here," Bellamy said, his voice soothing, calming. She couldn't remember why she thought that anymore. He _was_ here.

"I missed you," she said, insistent. "I missed you so much I couldn't breathe sometimes. I missed you every day. I miss you even when you're here." Clarke was crying now, with big, gasping sobs, hitching gasps of breath, and shaking shoulders. Bellamy was pulling her up now, gathering her into his arms, and she clung to him, her arms around his back, her face buried into his shoulder.

"I'm here," Bellamy murmured into her ear and the words anchored her. "I'm coming back."

"CLARKE!"

She startled awake to Madi's face right over hers, all concern etched into her eyes. "Madi," she said shakily.

"You were crying again, I didn't know what was happening —"

Her hand flew to her face. She had been crying. Hastily, she wiped away the tear tracks and remaining tears, forcing a smile onto her face. "Did I fall asleep?"

"Yeah, I guess but —"

"I thought you were swimming."

"Clarke!"

"What's wrong?"

"You! Are you okay?"

For a split second, she wanted to say no. But she didn't want to explain it and she didn't want to make Madi worry. There was nothing she could do about it. "I am. Sorry, it must've been a bad dream or something. I didn't mean to stop you from swimming."

Madi scrutinized her for a long minute and Clarke kept up her smile. "Are you _sure_ you're okay?"

"Yes, Madi," she said a little dully. "And I promise I'll stay awake this time if you want to keep swimming." Madi looked behind her at the water and then sheepishly looked back at her.

"Can I?"

"I said you could.'

There was only the slightest of hesitation before she zoomed off again. "Thanks, Clarke!"

"Be careful!"

"I know!"

Left alone again, Clarke stared out at the water and shook her head of the remnants of the dream. The conversation in it wasn't new — it ended up being a recurring scenario in her dreams — but she'd never felt so comfortable before. Her head in Bellamy's lap, the sun shining on them, casting a glow around Bellamy, his voice soft and certain — it'd never been _that_ real before.

"I miss you," she said, feeling the words around her tongue. "I wish you were here."

***

**day 962.**

It was time she did it. She’d put it off long enough because she’d feared what the result was. Every time she made to leave and stop by the bunker, she’d stopped herself. What if nothing was left of it? What if they were all dead? Then she made excuses to put it off — she’d do it another day, she was busy with Madi’s lessons, she wasn’t feeling well, she had to do something else and couldn’t get there in time.

But she was here now, staring at the rubble that covered the entrance to the bunker (she remembered when she’d first seen it) and wished she’d brought Madi along just so she had someone’s hand to hold.

Clarke walked slowly, surveying the rubble. She didn’t know how deep down it extended or how long it'd been there. Presumably, it had all fallen at the start. If any of them were still alive — no, they had to be — they were trapped under there. She choked back a sob at the thought. Another thing gone wrong. Another thing she hadn't stopped.

As if she was glued to the spot, Clarke swayed on her feet, feeling nauseous the longer she thought about it. Her mom was down there. All of her people. She had to take in a deep breath, frantic and short and —

"Clarke." She whirled around and blinked, lifted her hand and Bellamy caught it with his.

“What are you doing here?” She asked, breathlessly, as he moved to stand next to her. He squeezed her hand and she realized how much she wanted that — she held on tight.

“I couldn’t let you do this alone.” Her breath caught again and she was horrified to find that she was getting teary.

“It’s okay,” she said, a half hearted lie.

“Not for me. I’m here.” Bellamy leaned in and pressed a kiss on her forehead, brief and soft. It did more to reassure her than any of her thoughts had. She breathed out, more easily this time, and nodded.

“I’m glad you are. I needed you here.”

He squeezed her hand again and she was alone, staring at the pile of rubble. Clarke closed her eyes and counted to ten.

She stepped forward.

***

**day 1827.**

She let herself imagine, let herself craft a scenario with abandon. When the ship landed, she would be there waiting. Madi would be sullen, unsure. Clarke would say, "It's them. I know it is." Even after five years, she'd still know. The rocket was burned into her memory.

"Will they like me?" Madi would ask.

"Of course they would," she'd answer. "We'd keep you away from some of them, but everyone else would love you. Bellamy had — has a —"

"Sister. I know, Clarke."

"He'd love you."

Their conversation would be cut off by the door opening and Clarke would be consumed with a sudden terror — that they'd forgotten her, that they wouldn't recognize her anymore, that they wouldn't care about her anymore.

"Maybe we should wait a little bit —" She'd start to say.

"We came _all_ this way! We're not leaving!" Not that they had much of a choice — the others were stepping out now, disoriented as they took off their helmets, fearful at the thought that the lingering radiation would still kill them.

It would be Monty that recognized her first, expressed in a disbelieving, " _Clarke_?" Everyone's heads turned to her but she only had eyes for Bellamy.

Her hands were shaking.

Bellamy took a step towards her, uncertain. She understood. He didn't feel real either in front of her. She'd seen him so many times she needed proof it was really him. He looked the same — older, though, maybe with longer hair, with a new shirt.

They reached for each other at the same time and she gasped as they collided — "You're alive," he repeated over and over.

"You're _here_ ," she repeated over and over.

"I can't believe this —"

"You're right on time —"

"I didn't think you —"

"I am —"

"I missed you," he breathed, holding her tightly, pulling her closer. "You don't know how much I did. You don't know how much I missed you."

"Me too." She didn't elaborate. "Me too."

Everyone else had stepped back. Madi was pretending she wasn't looking at them. Clarke didn't care if they were.

She pulled back, just slightly, just enough so that she could take a long look at him. He looked good, and healthy, and _Bellamy_ and it was so much better to see him in front of her than it was to just remember his face. One hand moved to cup his jaw. She felt his breath against her face, warm and steady.

"Hi," she murmured.

"Clarke," he said and she'd missed the way her name sounded coming from his mouth. She pulled back and smiled, bright, blinding, unabashed.

"Bellamy," she said, before burying her face against his neck and pressing a kiss there before she could change her mind. Maybe he didn't notice it. She wanted to think he had. She hoped that he had.

There was a slight pressure against her cheek, near her ear. Clarke smiled wider and held him tighter.

She let herself get lost in this fantasy, this scenario, before she pulled herself up from the bed and looked at Madi, still sleeping easily.

They would be back today. She could let her sleep a little while longer.

***

**\+ day 1 (2211).**

When Clarke first saw him, she believed he was an illusion. Precedence all but told her he wasn't real — how many times had she imagined seeing him? How many times had she woken up from a dream only to realize Bellamy wasn't here? How many times had she snapped out of a daydream only to remember Bellamy was gone? How many times had she thought she'd seen him? How many thousands of times had she imagined finding him again? It was absolutely within the realm of possibility that, being chased by strangers hellbent on killing her, her mind would conjure up Bellamy once again.

But he shouted at her, a "Clarke!," joined by Madi's echoing call, and it broke through her fog of disbelief, forced her to suck in a deep breath. He looked different — actually older, this time, with longer hair, and he had a patchy beard — he never looked that different in her imagination. The worry on his face was the same, though, and she had very little time to decide whether or not he was real because she could hear people approaching and it felt so _familiar_ all of a sudden.

"Madi, get him away," Clarke instructed, knowing that she would know where she meant. "I'll be right with you."

Bellamy protested. "What —"

She made eye contact with him for a brief, too brief, second. " _Go_ ," she pleaded, and he understood the urgency of the situation because he followed Madi, although he looked back at her every so often. She didn't dwell on it; she couldn't, not right now. But she quickly wondered where everyone else on the rocket was and she hoped that Madi and Bellamy would be safe. Darting behind a bush, she waited until the last of their chasers passed, and then waited ten more minutes, before she set off.

\---

The closer Clarke got to the encampment, the more nervous she felt. With every step she took, she was more and more aware that she was about to really, actually see Bellamy again. She'd actually talk to him. She could touch him.

(Provided, of course, he wasn't an illusion.)

(But she was pretty sure he wasn't, this time.)

Madi met her at the entrance, practically bouncing on her feet. She barely got to ask if they were okay before Madi tugged on her arm.

“He’s _here_ ,” she whispered, looking over her shoulder. “ _Bellamy_. He’s in the tent over there.” Clarke smiled at her, half-hugging her to her side, half-hoping she could find an excuse out of this. It was her fear speaking, though, and it felt like nothing compared to the knowledge that, like Madi had said, Bellamy was here.

“Go keep lookout for a bit,” she instructed, “I’ll check in with you later.”

Madi nodded, pointing at the tent again as if Clarke hadn’t pinpointed which one it was already, and then running off. Clarke watched her for a second and then took a deep breath.

She could do this.

Standing in front of the tent, she wasn't as sure.

There was a rustling from within and she took it as a sign. She'd gone two thousand and ten days without him already. She didn't want to go one more.

Examining the walls of the tent, Bellamy's back was turned to her when she walked in. It gave her a moment's reprieve to look him over, from head to toe, and it was the overwhelming relief, the need to see him, that made her breathe out a tiny, happy, "Hi."

He whirled around and her breath caught in her throat.

"Clarke," he said, and she'd gone through this so many times before that she'd feared it wouldn't matter as much, but it did. He had an uncertain look on his face, his eyes rapidly scanning over her, his mouth opening and closing with a loss for words, his hand whispering to be touched, to see for himself.

She didn't know who moved first, but the next second, she was in his arms, holding on tighter and tighter, pulling him closer and closer, gasping into his shoulder, smiling against his neck. Bellamy's hand was on the back of her head, clutching her to him, and his other arm was wrapped around her back. She breathed him in. It was a long while before she could let him go.

When she did, she was teary.

"You know," Clarke said, a strange delight in her voice, feeling the tears well up, "all the times I thought about this…" Her hand came up to his face, her finger trailing across the beard he'd somehow grown. It was strange to see him with it, but she liked it. It suited him. "I never pictured you like this."

There was a light laugh, both unfamiliar and familiar at the same time. "Your hair's shorter," he said, his own hand reaching out to brush against the ends of her hair.

"Your hair's longer." It curled around his ears, around the nape of his neck. Clarke twisted a strand away from his eyes.

Bellamy nodded, silent. Then: "You're…" he faltered, "really here. Right? You're alive?"

Clarke didn't answer, just pulled him towards her into another embrace.

"It's me," she murmured. That was when she started crying, letting loose great sobs of relief and happiness and grief. It was Bellamy, holding her, touching her, calming her. For all the years she'd hoped for this moment, for all the days she'd counted down, for all the times she'd wondered about him, nothing, nothing compared to this.

There was nothing to think about, to question, to doubt, to demure over. There was only Bellamy, who wiped away the tears from her cheeks, who had the same tears in his eyes. His hand was shaky and she clutched it in hers. There was just his face in front of her, closer than it had ever been, with a smile on it that she saved for memory. There was Clarke leaning in, pressing a kiss against his cheekbone, scratching her cheek against his beard. There was Bellamy's breath hitching and a next kiss below the first, and then again, lower still.

Clarke reached his jaw and left a whisper-soft kiss against it and his hand tightened in her grasp.

She barely pulled back long enough for both of them to surge together in a real kiss this time, initially soft, hesitant, then more natural, confident. Her fingers twisted in his hair, as his pressed against her lower back, and this was another scenario she had imagined over the years — not often, but enough to have preconceptions about what it would feel like, what it would _be_ like — but it was different this time. It was real and real was better than anything else.

He made a small noise into her mouth and she smiled, slowly pulling away with small kisses while he chased after her. It was hard to stop once they started.

"I missed you," Clarke said, resting her forehead against his. "We have so much to talk about."

"Later," Bellamy said, smiling at her like he still couldn't believe it (she felt very much the same way), and closing his eyes to savor the moment.

"Later," she agreed. It'd been years. The questions could wait a little longer.

**Author's Note:**

> Important disclaimer: any positive views on The Grief Beard is merely a reflection of Clarke, not of the author.
> 
> you can find me at [bestivals](http://bestivals.tumblr.com) on tumblr!


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